


stay high

by the_gods_wife



Series: stay high [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Black OFC - Freeform, F/M, Het, Original Character(s), Swearing, Vaginal Sex, bartender ofc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:42:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25982293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_gods_wife/pseuds/the_gods_wife
Summary: prompt:  my idea is a story where y/n or an OC has a bar that's about to go bankrupt and barely has customers. One evening Bucky visits this bar after a mission. As a conversation starter he complains how he can't get drunk. They become friends and he talks a lot about the old days when he went out for a drink in the 1940s and helps her turning this bar into a 40s themed place (music, new menu, dress code etc..) and together they save her place from going bankrupt and they're falling in love along the way - from @ceapa-micaplaylist can be foundhere.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Original Female Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Original Female Character(s)
Series: stay high [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911853
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> please be gentle this is my first fanfic in at least a DECADE AND A HALF. also my first ever bucky fic so i’m not sure if i got him all the way right. comments and constructive critiques are welcome. hope y'all like it! ALSO! a HUGE THANK YOU to my sweet beta, the darling @indyluckycharlie, without whom i would be lost.

Emma throws the pile of mail on her desk in the back office, ruthlessly forcing down her panic at the sight of so many envelopes marked “FINAL NOTICE” in angry red letters. She frowns and heads out to the barroom. Aside from their five regulars, it’s virtually dead tonight. Again. Once she’s behind the bar, Emma nods to her bartender, “You can head home, Kevin. I’ll pay ya for the whole night.”

Kevin, who’s been a bartender here since Emma’s granddad opened it, shoots her a look as he puts his rag in the cleaning solution bucket. “You don’t have to, kid.”

“Well, I’m gonna.”

He nods, knowing by the tilt of her chin that further argument would be futile. “Ernie and Chuck already had their usual dust up. Shouldn’t give ya any more trouble tonight.”

“I can handle ‘em if they do.”

“Yeah.” He leans closer and nods toward the far end of the bar. “Not so sure about the new guy. Been pretty quiet so far. He’s had a lot, though.”

She bites her lip. If Kevin says the guy’s had a lot then the guy is probably drunk enough to be a problem. Discreetly, she eyes him. All dark and muscled with ridiculously shiny chocolate brown hair. He hasn’t even caused a problem yet and he's already managed to annoy her. When he looks up at the tv, she gets the vague impression of a familiar face but can't place him. Like a picture she's seen so often that it's blended into the background. Shrugging, she says, “Thanks, Kevin. I’ll call if I need ya.”

Over his shoulder he replies, “I can take payment in a bottle or two of Beam, ya know.”

“No you can’t.”

He waves her off and leaves.

Emma grabs a clean rag and sets to work polishing glasses no one will drink out of.

“Hey doll, can I get another whiskey? Two fingers. Neat.”

She wrinkles her nose at him. “Doll? What the fuck is this, a damn Dick Tracy comic or some shit?”

Straightening, he lets out a startled laugh, all bright and unexpected, like the sun at midnight. He leans back in his chair, crosses his arms over his chest. "I'm an old man, doll, give me a break."

Casting an eye at the six empty glasses upended in front of him on the bar top, she drawls, "Maybe the 'old man' should give the whiskey a break. Seems like you've had enough."

He shrugs with a slight chuckle, "Seventy years ago six glasses of whiskey would’ve been enough. Don't even know why I still try. Isn’t that the definition of madness? Doing the same thing and expecting a different result the next time?"

"Wha-" she gulps and the glass she was polishing thunks on the non-skid mat under her feet. She can't believe it took her so long to know his face. "Seventy years … "

Bucky can see exactly when she puts two and two together and makes four. Her honey-brown skin goes a little pale, eyes all wide, as she drops the glass. The step back she takes is purely involuntary. Keeping eye contact, he slowly reaches for his wallet and pulls out two twenties. "On second thought, six is probably enough tonight. Thank you."

He can feel her eyes searing into his back as he walks out.

He's hitching a leg over his bike in the parking lot when he hears footsteps rapidly approaching. Tensing for a moment, he relaxes as he recognizes the pattern as the bartender's tread. He sits down and waits for her to reach him.

"Wait! I'm sorry - it's not what you think. My great granpop was Gabe Jones." Her thoughts spill out, disjointed, tumbling over each other, "I've seen your face my whole life. He said you died in action but the truth is so much worse. I know that. And seeing you here … Listen, if you ever come back to my bar your drinks are on me."

There's the shadow of Gabe in her warm eyes and plush lips. He's not sure how to feel about this. He shrugs at her, says, "You don't have to-"

"Well I already said I would so, yeah, I do have to."

An unwilling smile tugs at his mouth. She's certainly got some stones on her. "All right, doll, you've got yourself a deal."

Turning to leave, she pauses and says, "Oh, and if you call me 'doll' again? I'm smashing your face."

The smile becomes an outright grin. "What's your name then?"

She saunters back toward the bar, hips swaying, and tosses over her shoulder, "You gotta earn that, Sergeant."

Chuckling, he revs his bike and pulls out of the parking lot.

~*~

It's over two weeks before he can get back to the little bar by his house. A couple times during the mission, he'll find himself trying to guess her name. He thinks she might be a "Jessica"; it seems to fit her no-nonsense demeanor.

The same group of old men are in there when he walks in, just like last time. She's wiping down the bar, glowering at the clean surface and he takes a moment to look her over. There are bags under her eyes and her shoulders are pulled tight.

He eases onto the barstool directly in front of her. "Penny for your thoughts … Jessica?"

"They're worth far more than that, soldier. And, no, not even close."

"Hmmm … Sara?"

"God no. Your guesses are offending me. Just stop."

Laughing lightly, he leans back and says, "Well, whoever you are, I believe you still owe me a drink."

"That I do. Now, if you're feeling brave, you'll let me pick the drink."

"Why not?" he shrugs. The way her resultant smile makes her face light up has absolutely no effect on him whatsoever. Neither does the sight of her nimble handles expertly pouring and mixing some concoction.

"Here. Try this."

"Hmmmm … this tastes familiar. What is it?"

"It's called a gin rickey. Did you drink those back in the day?"

"No … but the dames I went out with sure did. And there were a lot of them." He's surprised by the memory. Grateful for it.

She rolls her eyes and throws an ice cube at him. He laughs as he ducks the projectile. Sipping his drink, Bucky tells her, "'S pretty good. Thank you."

"It's literally the least I could do for you. My great granpop told me all about how you saved his ass. On more than one occasion."

Bucky shrugs and looks down, "He woulda done the same for me."

"Do, uh, do you have any memories of what he was like back then?"

They spend the evening talking and laughing, Emma testing out increasingly more elaborate drinks on him. He definitely seems to prefer the drinks from his era, although he's a big fan of the slippery nipple she makes him try - "wait, it's called a _what_?" - and insists on drinking another. When he manages to dredge up a few war stories featuring Gabe, her face goes soft, dark brown eyes sparkling at him. And he thinks maybe this could be enough. So he stays while she closes up, even stacks chairs up on empty tables after he's wiped them down and takes out the day's trash for her.

"You don't - I mean, you didn't -" she stammers as she pulls her keys from her bag. Bucky remains where he is, leaning against the wall next to the back door, surveying the parking lot. Watching her back since she's locking up and distracted.

He shrugs when she looks over at him. "Yeah, I did."

Emma shoots him a shy smile. "Well … thanks all the same," she murmurs lamely when he's walking her to her car, which turns out to be an old Ford Bronco that's seen better days.

Smooth as anything, Bucky takes her keys and opens her door. She plunks her keys from his grasp and climbs in with a, "Real smooth, Barnes."

"Good night, little Jones," he grins at her and shuts the door once she's seated and started the car.

She rolls the window down, flashing him a smile as she says, "It's Emma, by the way," and peels out of the parking lot.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my idea is a story where y/n or an OC has a bar that’s about to go bankrupt and barely has customers. One evening Bucky visits this bar after a mission. As a conversation starter he complains how he can’t get drunk. They become friends and he talks a lot about the old days when he went out for a drink in the 1940s and helps her turning this bar into a 40s themed place (music, new menu, dress code etc..) and together they save her place from going bankrupt and they’re falling in love along the way - from @ceapa-mica
> 
> playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7b4GK5iCfGKaLqyWAAryzj?si=WNQSKjExQ4uFld4EDHRLhA).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be gentle this is my first fanfic in at least a DECADE AND A HALF. also my first ever bucky fic so i’m not sure if i got him all the way right. comments and constructive critiques are welcome. hope y'all like it! ALSO! a HUGE THANK YOU to my sweet beta, the darling @indyluckycharlie, without whom i would be lost.

It’s the start of a pattern, that night. Whenever Bucky’s home, he inevitably ends up at Emma’s bar. Chatting with her as he eats the nightly special - though, if pressed, he’d have to say there’s nothing particularly special about the food - or talking Ernie and Chuck out of trying to smash stools over one another for the four billionth time. He can’t help but notice how dead it is any night he’s in there. Weekend nights don’t even draw more than twenty patrons. Although, he sure doesn’t begrudge the time it gives them to talk, to learn each other’s stories. Bucky tells her about his youth, the fights he rescued Steve from, the ones he started himself … even how scared he was after he was conscripted. She tells him about growing up in the bar, how she used to dream of being an actress until she tried out for her first play and realized she couldn’t act to save her life. But he knows she’s drowning. Can see it in the tense set of her shoulders, the clench in her jaw when she stares off into space. There’s gotta be some way he can help his friend.

Finally, when they’re in the Quinjet on the way back from their latest mission, Sam breaks his uncharacteristic post-mission silence.

“Dude! I can hear you thinking all the way over here. Just spill already, damn!’

Bucky sighs, rolls his eyes. "You remember my friend I told you about?”

“How could I forget her? Emma’s the first friend you haven’t tried to kill. Which - I might add - is a very big step for you!” Sam claps him on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” he deadpans. “Anyway. She owns a bar and it isn’t doing too good. And, uh, I wanna help her out … I’m just not sure how.”

“Why isn’t it doing well?”

“Probably because it’s the hundredth bar of its type in that town. And the food is fuckin’ terrible.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “Damn … you lived through the Great Depression _and_ World War Two. Must be absolutely godawful food.”

“She’s a terrible cook,” he shudders at the memory of his last taste of her “cooking”.

Frowning in concentration for a few minutes, Sam’s face brightens and he turns to Bucky, excited. “A theme bar! Turn it into a forties bar, but without all the racism. Oh, you could totally do appearances there. Really milk the shit out of this angle.”

“Wow … I -”

“You what!”

“I don’t hate it.”

“You could call it: ' _Sam’s Place_ '. Did you just get chills? I know _I_ just got chills.”

“Sam.”

“Hell, I might even stop by and lend a hand and whatnot.”

“SAM.”

“Yes, Bucky? Why are you so rudely interrupting me?” Sam asks primly.

“Absolutely not.”

“Bu-”

“No.”

“You never let me have any fun.”

~*~

Emma smiles as Bucky walks in and sits at the bar. The smile fades abruptly when she catches sight of the ugly, fading bruise marring his left eye. “What the hell happened to you?!”

“You should see the other guy.”

Handing him a cold beer, she says, “Not what I asked but. Whatever. Put that on your eye while I go get your plate.”

He eats the tough steak she put in front of him, dousing it in a liberal amount of steak sauce. Hoping the bite of the sauce will help him work up the courage to make his offer. Just like he rehearsed with Sam. “So, uh, Emma?”

“Yes, sir?” she answers absently, her concentration on making a list of supplies for the week ahead.

And, really, he should not like hearing her call him sir that much. At all. “Um, well, I’ve been thinking about something a lot lately.”

“Mmhm?”

“Look, I know the bar is struggling. Has been for a while now.”

Her head whips up, eyes narrowed.

“ _But_ \- don’t murder me before you hear me out - I came up with a solution. We could turn this place into a forties-themed bar. Serve cocktails and food from that time. The bar’s got good bones, shouldn’t be too hard to renovate.”

“Bucky-”

“Don’t say anything right away. Just think about my offer.”

“… I’ll _think_ about it.”

A few days later, she’s looking at the pile of bills on her desk, even more red letters scrawled across envelopes than last month. Before she can change her mind, she grabs her phone, taps out “im done thinking. lets do this, old man.” His reply comes with gratifying speed, “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning, kid. Be prepared to work hard.”

*

Sam whistles a jaunty tune as he parks his car next to Bucky’s motorcycle. He grabs his toolbox from the trunk as he eyeballs the building’s completely unremarkable façade. Maybe he’ll see about ordering some kind of lighted sign for about the door. Might even be able to convince this Emma girl to see the wisdom of “Sam’s Place”. With a smile at the thought, he heads inside, the greeting on his lips dying a swift death.

“I swear to God if you don’t find somewhere else to be right fuckin’ _now_ , I’ll cook for you again.”

Sam takes in the rare sight of a frightened Bucky Barnes standing at the base of a stepladder, hands outstretched to catch the Nubian princess currently giving him the third degree. Unfortunately, it only lasts for a moment. But he still saw it and that’s what matters. Then Bucky’s eyebrows lower into a fierce scowl and he snarls, “And I swear to God if you fall - _again_ \- I’m gonna tan your damn hide.”

“It’s already tan,” she quips, heedless of the absolutely murderous expression on Bucky’s face.

“You almost got a concussion!”

“Yeah,” she shrugs and turns back to her task, “ _almost_.”

“Em-”

“I see I got here just in time.”

They both whirl around at the sound of Sam’s voice. Emma totters a bit on the ladder, trying to regain her balance. Mouth pressed into a tight line, Bucky grabs her by the waist and sets her gently on the floor. He leans over enough to be face to face with her, grits out, “Do _not_ get back on that stepladder.”

Refusing to dignify that with a response, she hooks a thumb in Sam’s direction, steadily glaring at Bucky. “Let me guess. This is the infamous Sam.”

Sam steps forward and extends his hand to her. “Everything he ever said about me is a lie. I’m way cooler and far better looking than he could ever hope to be.”

Moving away from Bucky, Emma shakes Sam’s proffered hand and flashes him a blinding grin, “Oh it is so great to finally meet you. You’ve got no idea how great.”

Bucky claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder, pulls him away from Emma under the guise of a one-armed hug. “You actually did get here just in time.”

Looking around at the bare concrete pad of the floor and walls that have been sanded bare, Sam scoffs, “Just in time to do _what_? Help you burn it to the ground?”

At that, Bucky throws his head back and laughs. Sam thinks this is how he must’ve laughed before the war. “Nah, you’re gonna help me get this floor down. Em found the perfect parquet for in here. Hope you brought knee pads!”

From the corner of his eye, Sam catches Emma watching Bucky saunter out the side door to bring the boxes of flooring inside. Once Bucky’s gone, he turns to her with a smirk. “So it’s like that, huh?”

Emma jumps and narrows her eyes at him. He swears he hears her growl. “You saw _nothing_ , Wilson.”

“And you are correct. That is exactly what I saw. Nothing.” He gestures vaguely toward the door, “I’m gonna go see if Bucky needs some help.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: my idea is a story where y/n or an OC has a bar that's about to go bankrupt and barely has customers. One evening Bucky visits this bar after a mission. As a conversation starter he complains how he can't get drunk. They become friends and he talks a lot about the old days when he went out for a drink in the 1940s and helps her turning this bar into a 40s themed place (music, new menu, dress code etc..) and together they save her place from going bankrupt and they're falling in love along the way - from @ceapa-mica
> 
> playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7b4GK5iCfGKaLqyWAAryzj?si=WNQSKjExQ4uFld4EDHRLhA).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be gentle this is my first fanfic in at least a DECADE AND A HALF. also my first ever bucky fic so i’m not sure if i got him all the way right. comments and constructive critiques are welcome. hope y'all like it! ALSO! a HUGE THANK YOU to my sweet beta, the darling @indyluckycharlie, without whom i would be lost.

“All right,” Emma grunts, dusting off her hands as she stands up. Both men wrap up what they’re doing and turn to face her. “I think we’ve done enough for today. You two got the floor laid - gorgeously, by the way, excellent work guys - and I got the stain on the walls. Tomorrow’s the perfect day to get all the pictures and whatnot up since the furniture won’t arrive ‘til after two.”

Sam nods in gratitude when she hands him a cold bottle of beer, already opened. He drains it as he watches her do the same for Bucky, but with a soft, fond smile. Leaning against the bar, he drawls, “Hey, Buck, can you put my tool box in my trunk for me?”

Bucky tears his eyes from Emma and frowns at the other man. “Why can’t you do it?”

“Maybe because I’m not a souped-up ninety-year-old with a bionic arm and my knees hurt?”

“Fine, I guess,” he shrugs, catches the keys Sam throws in one hand and walks out with the toolbox.

Once they’re alone, Sam tilts his head toward her. “I know you think he’s just helping you out because y'all are friends. But you’re wrong.”

She grabs herself a beer and arches an eyebrow at him as she pops it open and takes a sip.

“Don’t make that sassy face at me, young lady.” He laughs along with her for a moment then says, “He sure as hell doesn’t look at me the way he looks at you.”

Against her will, Emma finds herself quietly asking, “How does he look at me?”

“Like you’re the most amazing thing he’s ever seen.”

She bites her lip and looks away from him.

“So, what now?” Bucky asks as he saunters back in, tossing Sam his keys.

“Well, why don’t you two get cleaned up and come over to my place? I’ll cook dinner.”

Paling slightly, Bucky whimpers. “Please don’t.”

“Barnes - I can hardly fuck up spaghetti. The sauce is already in a bottle, you just gotta get it warm or whatever.”

“Yes,” Sam says loudly before the other man can say anything else. “We will absolutely do that. C'mon Buck. Let’s head back to your place and get ready.”

*

Slapping on some cologne after his shower, Bucky gives himself a brief onceover in the mirror then heads to the living room. He stops short at the sight of Sam sitting on the couch, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt, watching tv with a plate of nachos in his lap.

“What the hell, Sam? You know Emma’s making us dinner,”

Sam sets the plate aside and stands up. “Yeah, about that …”

Frowning, Bucky follows his friend into the kitchen. “What’s going on, Sam?”

“It’s just … uh, well, my back hurts real bad and I’m, um, pretty tired.” He shoves a box of frozen garlic bread and a bouquet of multi-colored flowers into Bucky’s arms. “And, also, I think I’m coming down with something. There was a lot of dust. It got all up in my nose, in my sinuses. Gotta nip this in the bud. So you go ahead. Enjoy your little dinner with your girl.”

Bucky lets Sam push him out the back door without protest.

*

Emma answers the knock at her door and receives a face full of flowers for her troubles. “Wow. Cool,” she peels a petal off her bottom lip then takes the bouquet from his hands, “this is cool. Thanks. Uh, please, come on in.”

“Thanks, I’ll just put the garlic bread in the kitchen.”

She follows Bucky, discreetly sniffing the flowers as she checks out his ass in the tight dark-wash jeans he’s wearing. “I’m relatively certain the oven works-”

He shoots her a look over his shoulder. “You don’t know for sure if your own oven works? How is that possible?”

“Don’t start with me. I … wait a minute, where’s Sam?”

Bucky shrugs and preheats the oven after checking to be sure it’s empty. “He, uh, he said his back hurt. How have you never used your oven?”

“Fuckin’ let it _go_.” Rolling her eyes, she grabs a pitcher from the cabinet, fills it with water and drops the flowers in.

“No, you gotta …” sighing, he rummages through drawers until he finds a pair of scissors. “Why are your scissors - you know what? We’ll deal with that later. Gimme the flowers. Thanks. You gotta trim the ends, like this, so they last longer.”

“Well, no one’s ever given me flowers before. Don’t make that face at me. Why do you know so much about flowers?”

He shoots her his most charming smile. It’s kind of a lot to be on the receiving end. She feels her back break out in a light sweat under its power.

“I took out a lotta dames in my day. Treated all of 'em right. That starts with flowers.” He gets his first good look at her and feels a little hitch in his chest. She’s got her curly black hair piled on top of her head, leaving her dark bronze shoulders bared by some kind of dark green strapless dress that ends above her knees. It clings to her curvy hips in a away that goes straight to his gut. The sparkly pink polish on her toes makes him grin. “You look real swell, doll. Like you should be in pictures or somethin’.”

Emma smiles shyly, dimple flashing in her left cheek, and murmurs her thanks. “Hope you like Caesar salad. I’ve got a bag of it in the fridge.”

He hums his agreement as he gets the garlic bread ready to go in the oven.

*

“Really, you didn’t have to clean everything up,” she protests softly, still warmed from the sense of intimacy that wrapped around them during dinner.

Drying his hands on a towel, Bucky shrugs. “You cooked. Seemed only right to do my part.”

“Thank you.” She takes a sip of her wine, studying him over the rim of the glass. “Did you wanna maybe watch a movie? Or there’s some ice cream in the freezer. If you want dessert.”

He crowds her back against the counter, plucking her wineglass from her fingers and setting it down behind her. “I’d rather have you for dessert.”

She’s laughing when he kisses her for the first time and it feels so inexplicably right. The tastes of joy and wine and _her_ make sense on his tongue. Their bodies slot together, curves and angles in perfect alignment, as their lips learn each other. His hands tighten on her hips, pulling her flush against him, and he deepens the kiss, tongue meeting hers in a slow teasing dance. Moaning softly, Emma arches into the sheltering bulk of him, hands sliding up from his shoulders to tangle in his hair. He shudders, hips nudging into the heat of her, when she nips his bottom lip. She hitches one leg up and he clasps her thigh, metal fingers cool on overheated skin, canting his hips up so he can press his hardening cock _right there_. Gasping at the pressure, Emma throws her head back and he takes advantage of her exposed neck, kissing and nipping the golden brown skin on display. “Bucky …”

“If at any point you want me to stop-”

“Don’t you fucking _dare_.”

With a grin, he kisses the tip of her nose then steps back, hands sliding to her waist. She lets out a surprised squeak when he hefts her over his shoulder. In the bedroom, he gently sets her down on her feet, holding her waist until she regains her balance. Blinking up at him, she slides her hands over his biceps, squeezing lightly here and there. “My goodness,” she breathes out.

Chuckling lightly, he turns her around to unzip her dress and help her shimmy out of it. He makes a strangled sound when she faces him, clad only in a lacy red bra and matching thong. “H-” he has to swallow and start again, “how’d you know red’s my favorite color?”

Emma smirks at him as she takes her hair down, shaking the curls loose. “Just a lucky guess,” she says coyly.

He snorts as he grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it over his head, tossing it to the floor.

“Holy shit … it’s like your muscles have muscles …”

Bucky flexes his pecs at her and unzips his jeans. She reaches for the front clasp of her bra but he stops her with a gruff, “Leave that on. All of it.”

When he’s finally naked, she crowds into his space, reaching for the jutting length of his cock as she scatters kisses across his collar bones. She strokes him with a slow, steady pressure, delighting in his breathy moans and gasps when she eases back his foreskin to swipe her thumb across the head. He reaches up and gently clasps her head in his hands, tilting her back until he’s staring into her coffee-dark eyes. “ _Emma_ …”

“I know,” she whispers back.

Giving her a quick, searing kiss, he grabs her around her soft waist and tosses her onto the bed. He climbs over her sprawled limbs, pressing tender kisses here and there, the top of her thick thigh, the slight rise of her belly, the valley between her breasts. She pulls him up to kiss him but their lips barely glance across each other before he’s slipping away, back down to kiss along the waistband of her panties. Her hips shift restlessly so he grabs them, hard enough to remind her who’s in charge. “Don’t rush me,” he whispers. “Wanna do this right.”

Any breath he has left in his lungs promptly evacuates when he peels off her underwear. He kneels there on the mattress, at her feet, holding the scrap of lace utterly dumbfounded. “You don’t have any …”

“No, I don’t have any,” she agrees, cheeks turning a dull red. “Are you - is it too much?”

He runs his finger lightly along the smooth seam of her lips. “I’m certainly not complaining.”

“But I certainly will if you don’t -” she chokes mid-sentence as he places a kiss where his finger just was, then parts her and gently laps at her clit with his tongue.

Easing a finger into her wetness, Bucky circles his tongue as his digit works in and out of the tight clasp of her. She moans, grabbing his hair, nails scratching his scalp just right, as her hips lift into the slide of a second finger. For languorous minutes, he feasts, flicking his tongue between his fingers, delving into the sweet wet heat of her. He presses his aching cock into the bedspread, inflamed by her scent and taste. On edge at the thought of being buried deep inside her.

“Please, Bucky …” her breath hitches, catching in the back of her throat in a whining moan.

Moving his fingers faster and curling them, he murmurs, “Let go, doll, I’ve got you.”

She raises her head enough to meet his eyes, begs, “Need you - need you inside me when I come.”

With a sharp inhale, he eases his fingers out as he sits up. She moans when he sucks them clean, eyes on hers the whole time. “Do you have any-”

“I’m on the pill … and I trust you.”

He surges over her, hips settling between her things, hand cupping her jaw as he presses a light kiss to her lips. They both exhale a shuddering breath at the feel of his cock sliding against her, head slipping in her wetness. Emma reaches down to guide him inside her, gasping at the full, stretching plunge of him. Grunting low in his throat, Bucky hooks her right leg over his hip and pushes as deep as he can go. She cups his face in her hands, thumbs smoothing across his cheekbones before she softly kisses the tip of his nose. His eyes flutter open and he smiles down at her, “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” she whispers in reply.

“You good?”

Emma bites her plush lower lip, nods.

Pulling his hips back, Bucky slides in and out of her in a languid rhythm, scattering kisses across her cheeks. She brings her left leg up and crosses her ankles at the small of his back, hips tilting up in a way that makes him bottom out on every thrust. He grunts as she tightens around him briefly, squeezing his cock perfectly. Bracing his hands on either side of her waist, he says, “Grab onto my shoulders. Just like that, good girl.”

Her inner muscles flutter around his cock and he lets out a smug chuckle. Leaning down, he whispers in her ear, “Like it when I call you a good girl, don’t you, doll?”

Instead of responding, she bites her lip and whines piteously. Works her hips in an attempt to get him to move again.

Bucky nips at her neck, hard enough to make her cry out. “Answer me.”

Nails cutting into the dense skin of his shoulders, she growls, “Yes, I like it. Now _fuck_ me.”

Getting up on his knees, he pulls her ass onto his thighs, holds her still as he pounds into her mercilessly with short, sharp thrusts. She throws her arms over her head, hands scrabbling for purchase on the headboard to brace herself. Her breathy moans mingle with the wet smack of skin meeting skin and his harsh grunts. He looks down, groaning loudly at the sight of her spread out, gripping the headboard, taking every last inch of his cock, breasts nearly spilling out of her bra at each impact of his hips. She undoes the front clasp and he reaches up with his right hand to cup one breast, thumbing at the tight point of her nipple. “Fuck, look at you. Takin’ my cock so deep, so good for me. Wanna see you touch yourself. Touch your clit for me.”

Wide eyed, she nods breathlessly and slides her hand from her breast down to her clit, rubbing in tight little circles as he watches. Bucky curses savagely, rising up on his knees to piston into her at a deeper angle. “ _Shit_ , doll, that’s it. Just like that. Such a good girl for me.”

It’s his name that falls from her lips as her back arches, inner muscles clutching desperately at his cock. Her orgasm rolls over her in harsh waves, almost too much for her body to process, musculature drawing tight then releasing in full-body shivers and twitches. Bucky pries her thighs open, fucking into her in jagged thrusts, chasing his own orgasm. His fingers bite into the skin of her thighs as his hips stutter and his cock explodes inside her, filling her. Head falling forward, he pants, “Emma, I - _fuck_ , Emma … ”

Hours or minutes or centuries later, when their breathing begins to slow, she pulls him down until he’s sprawled on top of her. He tries to protest that he’s too heavy so she kisses him into submission, still-weak limbs wrapped around him. Emma guides his head to her shoulder, turning to rest her lips on his forehead as she runs her fingers through his hair. His metal hand absently smooths her side in a steady up-down circuit.

“That was - ”

“Different. Yeah,” he sighs dreamily, “I know.”

She keeps one hand in his hair and lets the other drift down to rest between his shoulder blades, nails lightly scratching his skin. Bucky shivers in pleasure and pulls her closer. “Mmmmmm, keep doing that,” he murmurs, nudging his cock deeper into her tight heat.

Using both hands, she trails her fingers up and down his muscled back. “How are you _still_ hard? Is it that super soldier whatever?”

Coming up on his elbows, he rocks in and out of her with shallow, teasing thrusts. “Nah, doll, ’s all me.”

Around a groan she says, “I don’t know if I can take all of you.”

Maintaining his steady pace, he whispers against the tip of her nose, “I’ll be gentle … I promise.”

Their second time is unhurried and sweet. Filled with gentle kisses, soft laughter. With words that skirt the edges of feelings neither is ready to examine at all.

Afterward, she falls asleep draped across Bucky’s chest. Her last thought is of how perfectly their bodies nestle together.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: my idea is a story where y/n or an OC has a bar that's about to go bankrupt and barely has customers. One evening Bucky visits this bar after a mission. As a conversation starter he complains how he can't get drunk. They become friends and he talks a lot about the old days when he went out for a drink in the 1940s and helps her turning this bar into a 40s themed place (music, new menu, dress code etc..) and together they save her place from going bankrupt and they're falling in love along the way - from @ceapa-mica
> 
> playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7b4GK5iCfGKaLqyWAAryzj?si=WNQSKjExQ4uFld4EDHRLhA).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be gentle this is my first fanfic in at least a DECADE AND A HALF. also my first ever bucky fic so i’m not sure if i got him all the way right. comments and constructive critiques are welcome. hope y'all like it! ALSO! a HUGE THANK YOU to my sweet beta, the darling @indyluckycharlie, without whom i would be lost.

A rude beam of sunlight slants across her closed eyes and she furrows her brow, pouts a little, as she rolls over. Her hand flings out and encounters … empty sheets. Cold, empty sheets at that. Grudgingly opening her eyes, she frowns at his indented pillow, listening for any indication he’s still there. Silence. Which, okay, just because he’d brought flowers doesn’t mean last night was anything more than scratching an itch. Emma hefts herself out of bed, yanking the sheets off and throwing them in the hamper before heading to the bathroom. She got along fine without him before and she’ll get along fine without him now she decides as steps into the shower.

Freshly showered and smelling of the minty scent he loves, Emma enters the kitchen. Still only half-conscious, she stops dead at the sight before her. Bucky, clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs with a hand towel slung over his shoulder, stands at the stove. Late morning sun gilds his skin, painting him in a golden glow, and her mouth waters. He cracks eggs into a pan as bacon sizzles in another with swift, practiced movements. Part of her brain wonders where he found all the cooking implements. She’s not sure if she owns a whisk.

“Got an iced coffee for you in the fridge. With all that sugary bullshit you like.”

She grunts in gratitude and pulls the giant concoction from the fridge, warmed by the fact he remembered. She slides an arm around him from behind, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “ _Mmmm_ , thank you, baby angel.”

He laughs low in his throat as he forks out bacon onto a paper towel to cool. “Why don’t you sit down, make yourself comfortable while I scramble these eggs.”

“Or I could help you out.” She holds in her chuckle when she feels him tense momentarily.

“I’m sure you’re still worn out from yesterday,” his voice goes lower, darker, “and last night.”

At the allusion to everything they’d done to and with each other mere hours ago, her face heats. She rests her forehead between his shoulder blades. “I mean, I am a _little_ sore but not too sore to scramble some shit.”

“I’m not letting you touch a damn thing on this stove. What you do isn’t cooking - it’s a fuckin’ war crime.”

Laughing, she pinches his belly then shuffles over to the table, her ridiculous unicorn slippers - horns, they have horns for Christ’s sake! - rustling against the linoleum. Her eyes roam over him as she leans back in her chair, taking in the muscled length of him. Lingering on the flex of his back when he stirs the eggs around. The sight makes her want to rub herself all over him like a cat. As if he can feel the weight of her stare, Bucky eyes her over his shoulder and blows her a kiss.

She grumbles a “shut up” and he laughs at her, tells her to set the table so he can feed her cranky ass.

Halfway through the meal, Emma pauses and looks up at him with a sweet smile. “Please feel free to make breakfast in my kitchen whenever the urge strikes you.”

The slightest hint of a blush stains his cheeks pink. “’S good, then?”

“Oh, I have no idea what this food tastes like. I was talking about you lookin’ like a snack in them panties. No way in hell I’ll ever complain about that view,” she sweeps her eyes over his torso, bites her lip.

He lets out a sharp laugh, smirks at her. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

She stretches her leg out, teases at his ankle with the arch of her foot. Looks up at him from under thick lashes, pouts a little.

“Doll … don’t look at me like that, with those damn eyes. I can’t - ” he stops when she pushes out her full bottom lip at him. “You’re not being fair. Anyway, we don’t have time for this. Soon as we finish eating, we gotta get dressed and head out. Gonna be a long day.”

*

He barely waits for her to put the car in park before he clambers out and stomps over to open her car door for her. Once she’s standing next to him, he fixes her with a glare. “You are _never_ driving again.”

“Well that’s completely unrealistic.”

“Emma!”

“That light was _barely_ orange!”

Before Bucky can get started on a tirade, the back door of the bar opens and Sam peeks out. “Oh hey, thought I heard y'all two. It’s about damn time. .”

The sounds of people working can be heard from inside and Emma’s brow furrows. She pushes past Sam, blinking as her eyes adjust to the somewhat dim interior. Bucky is a solid presence behind her as she walks into the lounge. Once there, she stops short. There are a couple men muscling kegs into place with little effort while a redhead stands behind the bar stacking bottles on cabinet shelves. With a sound of surprised pleasure Bucky greets the two men then heads straight for the redhead, lifting her into a tight hug. He sets the woman down and they start speaking in what Emma thinks is probably Russian. Her gut twists on itself, knotting painfully. He’s never been this animated around anyone before. And why is he touching the other woman’s arm like that? Only one answer makes sense. One horrible, painful, inevitable answer. Emma ignores the splintering of her heart in favor of greeting the two new guys.

“I take it you two know Bucky.”

The one with the stupid haircut smiles and extends his hand, clasping hers in a brief, strong shake. “Yep, I’ve had the displeasure of knowing him for some time now. Name’s Clint. Pleasure to meet a fellow sufferer.”

“Uh …”`

“Ignore him,” the second guy says and her brain starts screaming as she turns to him in what feels like slow motion.

“Steve Rogers,” she breathes out.

“Miss Emma Jones,” he smiles and pulls her into a tight hug. “You have no idea how happy I am to meet you. Buck’s told me you’ve been a real friend to him these past months. And who your great granddad was. It was an honor to serve with him. He was a good soldier, a good man, and an even better friend.”

Biting her lip at an unexpected surge of tears, Emma nods and gives him a tremulous smile. “Thank you. It’s really good to meet you, too, Captain.”

“If anyone can call me ‘Steve’ it’s you.”

Clint rolls his eyes.

Steve pats her shoulder, “Tell you what, Emma, you ever wanna know the real Buck, you come talk to me.”

She shoots a quick glance over her shoulder and catches sight of Bucky grinning up at the redhead as he hands her a bottle to put on the shelf. Turning back, she pastes a smile to her lips. “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure I already know the real him. I’m gonna go stain the walls in the bathrooms. I’ll let you guys know if I need any help.”

After she walks away, Clint arches a brow at Steve. “Should we tell her Bucky and Nat are just old friends?”

“No,” Steve says with a slow smirk. “No, we should not. I’m sure it wouldn’t make a difference to her.”

“And it doesn’t hurt that you’re enjoying this.”

“Doesn’t hurt at all. It’s about time Bucky got himself a gal who’ll keep him on his toes.”

*

Emma’s out front waiting for lunch to be delivered and trying to relax her shoulders while congratulating herself on how subtly she’d managed to avoid Bucky all morning. It’s hard to reconcile the guy who’d been so enthralled last night with the guy who apparently has no problem cheating on his beautiful red-haired girlfriend. But she’s been the exotic sidepiece before, she knows the score. She wracks her brain for names he’d mentioned in all his stories about his teammates. The girlfriend’s gotta be the one he called “Nat”. Which makes a sick kind of sense, really. Those two had so much in common and, worse yet, some kind of history.

“We haven’t been introduced yet. I’m Natasha. Nat, to my friends.”

Jumping slightly, Emma turns toward the shorter woman with a small smile. “Heard a lot about you from Bucky. Nice to meet you, Nat.”

Natasha flashes her a wry smile. “I can certainly say the same about you. He’s your biggest fan. It’s cute.”

“Yeah,” Emma drawls, “he’s a real sweetheart.”

Before Natasha can ask for clarification, a beat up old minivan putters into the parking lot and crunches to a stop a few feet from them. A woman not a day under seventy clambers out, all towering blue bouffant hair, perfume, and voluminous cloud of cigarette smoke. She grabs up Emma in a crushing hug and rasps out in a booming voice that doesn’t match her petite stature, “Introduce me to your friend, sugar.”

“LuAnne, this is Natasha. She, uh, she’s here with Bucky,” Emma says with a brightness she doesn’t feel.

All traces of warmth vanish from LuAnne’s expression. She takes a long drag off her cigarette and mutters, “Is that so?”

“So it would seem,” Natasha shrugs.

“Well.” Turning to Emma, LuAnne tells her, “That lunch you ordered is in the back of the van.”

“How much do I owe ya?” Emma pulls her wallet from her back pocket and opens it.

“Don’t know,” the older woman says on an exhale of smoke, all studied nonchalance.

“Well let me see the receipt then.”

“Forgot it.”

Emma gives her a stern look. “Dammit, Lu. I’m getting sick of your shit. You _know_ I hate when you do this.”

Ignoring her outburst, LuAnne says sweetly, “Seems if it were me getting a free meal, I’d be more concerned with getting that food inside 'fore it gets cold.”

“’S seventy-five degrees out,” Emma mutters as she and Natasha get the food from the van. On her way inside, she kisses LuAnne on the cheek. “I love you, ya old pain in my ass.”

She walks back inside just in time to see Bucky taking the bags from Natasha.

“So, Nat, what did you think of LuAnne?” he asks her with a fond smile.

“She’s certainly a character.”

“Here,” Sam murmurs to Emma as he takes the bags she’s holding and sets them on the bar with the rest.

“And she hates my guts,” Natasha smiles with one side of her mouth.

“What?” Bucky laughs, parceling out everyone’s lunch. “How could she hate you? You’re a doll. Emma, here’s your chicken salad wrap.”

“Ya know, for some reason I’m just not hungry. I’m gonna go inventory the freezer.”

Clint and Steve share a look as Bucky watches her go with a puzzled frown.

*

Emma’s counting bags of frozen chicken - for the second time - when she senses she’s no longer alone. She takes her time counting them before moving on to bags of frozen steak, hoping to annoy the intruder into leaving. But luck has never seemed to be on her side.

“You’ve counted that same bag three times.”

At the sound of his voice, unexpected in the quiet, she flinches slightly, stubborn pride keeping her staring straight ahead.

He sighs and shifts his weight. “Wanna tell me why you’ve been avoiding me all day?”

“Haven’t. Just been busy,” she shrugs, moving on to bags of frozen vegetables.

“You should start buying fresh instead. Food’ll taste better,” he says, just to piss her off.

She whirls around to face him, bristling at his unwanted advice. “Fresh costs more and goes bad quick.”

“Don’t you think it’s worth the risk to keep the doors open?”

Inhaling deeply through her nose, Emma turns back to her task and mutters, “Seems like everything is too much of a risk any more.”

Bucky huffs out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, I get it. Can’t say I blame ya. Some things are too big of a risk.”

“Glad we’re on the same page, then,” she grates out.

With a nod she can’t see, he sighs, “You, uh, should at least try to eat your chicken salad thing.”

When she’s sure he’s gone, she punches a bag of chicken, cursing at the pain in her hand.

*

They finish up mid-afternoon - thanks to a miscommunication with the furniture company, delivery’s been pushed back to the next morning. So Sam gets everyone back to Bucky’s place for some burgers and beers to unwind. Emma and Bucky manage to avoid being in each other’s company the entire evening.

She spends a lot of time actively not-watching him deep in conversation with Natasha. Well, the redhead is doing most of the talking. Bucky’s just standing there, nursing a beer so he has something to do with his hands.

Steve pushing a beer into her own hands jolts her attention away from the two. He sticks close to her side the whole evening, regaling her with stories from his childhood that all seem to feature one James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky rescuing him from one fight or another, Bucky looking after him when he got sick, Bucky helping him take care of Sarah at the end …

Emma finally pleads a headache and extricates herself from the gathering at dusk. Steve insists on walking her to her car, guiding hand on her lower back. She pretends not to feel Bucky’s dark gaze burrowing between her shoulder blades.

“Listen, Emma, you should talk to him -”

“With all due respect, Steve? Stay out of it. Please.”

Instead of saying more, he helps her into her car and tells her to get home safe.

*

“You’ve gotta talk to her, Buck,” Steve says over breakfast the next morning.

Taking a sip of his coffee rather than flipping the table like he wants, Bucky grimaces and mutters, “She said it was too big of a risk. That I was too big of a risk. Nothing to talk to her about.”

“And I’m telling you,” Natasha interjects, “she didn’t mean what you think she meant. Talk to her.”

Whatever response Bucky is about to give is forever lost as all of their phones start screeching. They each receive the message telling them to return to headquarters immediately for an extremely critical mission. In under thirty minutes, they’re packed and boarding the Quinjet at a private airstrip outside of town. Bucky wraps up his first phone call then dials Emma as the plane climbs into the air.

“I sure hope you’re calling to tell me you guys are on your way.”

He sighs, regret flooding him. “Listen, we got called in for a pretty serious mission. I don’t know when I’ll make it back home. I’m sorry.”

The only sound is her taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“I’ll make it up to you. Somehow.” _If you’ll let me._

“Don’t worry about it. Any of it. I’m sure Kevin and I can get the tables and chairs unloaded and set up in time for the reopening Saturday. Tomorrow.”

“You couldn’t,” he says flatly.

“Yeah, well, I’ll do it even if it kills me.”

It’s Bucky’s turn to take a deep breath and let it out. “The point is, you don’t have to. I called in a favor. Help should be arriving within the next hour.”

Emma’s silent long enough that he worries he’s lost the connection. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Natasha nudges him. “We’re a few minutes away from landing. Fury’s gonna want to brief us as soon as we hit the tarmac.”

“Right, right. Uh, Emma, I’ll try to call you later if I can.”

“It’s not - you don’t have to. I’ll see you when I see you. Bye, Bucky.”

Emma stares at the black screen of her phone for a few minutes before sliding it into her back pocket instead of throwing it like she desperately wants to. She’s not sure how long she sits on one of the chairs stacked in the parking lot, unable to do anything but wonder why everything has to hurt so damn much. It must’ve been a while because when she stands to greet whoever’s in the mystery SUV that pulls up, her legs are stiff as hell. A handful of men and women pile out; a brunette approaches and shakes her hand. “You must be Emma Jones. I’m Agent Hill. Bucky said you could use a hand.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: my idea is a story where y/n or an OC has a bar that's about to go bankrupt and barely has customers. One evening Bucky visits this bar after a mission. As a conversation starter he complains how he can't get drunk. They become friends and he talks a lot about the old days when he went out for a drink in the 1940s and helps her turning this bar into a 40s themed place (music, new menu, dress code etc..) and together they save her place from going bankrupt and they're falling in love along the way - from @ceapa-mica
> 
> playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7b4GK5iCfGKaLqyWAAryzj?si=WNQSKjExQ4uFld4EDHRLhA).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please be gentle this is my first fanfic in at least a DECADE AND A HALF. also my first ever bucky fic so i’m not sure if i got him all the way right. comments and constructive critiques are welcome. hope y'all like it! ALSO! a HUGE THANK YOU to my sweet beta, the darling @indyluckycharlie, without whom i would be lost.

It’s nearly two months later when Bucky finally comes back. Nearly two months without seeing Emma’s face or hearing her throaty laugh or trying her wretched cooking experiments. Or smelling her hair. He passes her street and for a moment he almost turns down it, almost bangs on her door and demands she explain herself. That she let him fix whatever got broken. But he keeps driving to the other end of town.

Morning is just spilling over the horizon as he parks his bike outside LuAnne’s diner and heads inside, snagging a seat at the counter. To his pleasant surprise, LuAnne herself stands on the other side of the Formica, order pad in one hand, pot of coffee in the other. He smiles at her as he rights the overturned mug before him. “Morning, doll. Good to see your sweet face again.”

She stands there, an unreadable expression on her face. “You sure got a lotta nerve, you son of a bitch.”

The pleasure quickly vanishes, replaced by confusion and a hint of annoyance. “Um, excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, mister.”

“I have no idea what’s going on right now. I’m just trying to get some breakfast.”

Reading the sincerity in his eyes, LuAnne huffs out a beleaguered sigh and says, “Look, my Emma is a good woman. A once-in-a-lifetime kind of woman. Even if the poor dear can’t cook worth a damn. You went and got her hopes up then crushed her. Shoulda been honest with her from the start and you damn well know it.”

It’s no longer a hint of annoyance. Bucky is now fully furious at somehow being cast as the bad guy in the whole fucked up situation and he says as much to her.

Blinking, she manages a weak, “What?”

“We went on one date, I made her breakfast - which was delicious, by the way - then next thing I know she’s avoiding me. I finally corner her in the walk-in and -” he cuts off abruptly and looks away, the crests of his cheeks going pink.

“Oh hon, I already know all about your sleepover and how you got her coffee the next morning.”

He jerks his gaze back to LuAnne and she shrugs. “It’s a small town. Emma’s downstairs neighbor is my hairdresser. She called me the minute you two left the next morning.”

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters, running a hand over his face.

Clucking her tongue pityingly, she pours him a cup of coffee. “You want your usual breakfast?”

“Guess so.”

More customers arrive as she puts in his order and he doesn’t see her again until she’s delivering his steaming plate. Like any good diabolical mastermind, LuAnne waits until he’s taken a nice bite of his corned beef hash omelet to ask him, “So how’re you gonna fix this?”, then stare at him expectantly as he chews.

Swallowing, he looks down at his plate and cuts his omelet into perfectly even pieces. “I’m not. It’s better this way.”

“Better for who?” she asks gently.

*

“Hey, Emma,” Kevin calls when she enters the kitchen. He waves a heavily-floured hand in greeting then gets back to preparing the day’s batch of biscuit dough.

“Morning, Kevin,” she salutes him with her iced coffee. “How’re you?”

“Good. LuAnne called right before you pulled up. Said Bucky’s back in town.”

She’s still choking on her sip of iced coffee when her cell phone starts ringing. “Hey Lu.”

“Bucky’s back.”

“Good morning to you, too, sweetie.”

“This is no time to be a smartass. You need to march your behind over to his house and fix things right this minute, young lady.”

“The hell I do!”

“Listen to me: He’s not dating that red haired hussy. It’s - ”

“No!” Emma hangs up on her friend then slowly raises her eyes to Kevin’s. He tilts his head toward the door she just came through.

“You best hurry and get your man back before it’s too late.”

The drive to Bucky’s house passes in a blur and it’s a miracle she makes it there in one piece. On watery legs, she walks to the front door of his small rental home. She takes a few deep breaths and presses the doorbell, waits for interminable minutes for him to answer. At least make some sort of noise. Nothing happens. Emma turns and sits down on the top step, trying not to cry. “What did you think was going to happen? You didn’t think at all, did you? Just drove over here like a fucking idiot. Typical Emma.”

“Are you talking to yourself out here?”

She almost falls headfirst down the steps as she stands and turns toward the front door. Bucky’s leaning against the door jamb, metal hand holding the door to keep it from slamming. His face is creased from his pillow, hair falling out of a low bun and he’s clad only in a hastily donned black t-shirt and matching boxer briefs. He looks utterly perfect. And like she’s the last person he wants to see on his porch.

“Uh, I w - it really doesn’t matter.”

“Emma - ”

“Wait, can we do this inside? Mrs. Reilly across the street has been watching through her blinds since I pulled up.”

He furrows his brow at her.

“She goes to church with LuAnne’s best waitress.”

With a murderous glare at the house in question, he ushers Emma in and shuts the door. She gets a cursory glance of sparse, second hand furnishings, then he’s clearing his throat and demanding, “Well? I thought we said everything there was to say.”

“You’re not dating Nat,” she blurts out with all the finesse of a kindergartener.

“I _know_ that,” he grouses. After a moment, his face goes blank and he asks in a tight voice, “Why’d you say that like it’s news?”

She has the decency to look down at the floor, cheeks going ruddy, when she tells him what he already figured out. “That’s why I said what I said in the freezer that day. I thought you were with Nat and just using me.”

Nostrils flaring, Bucky clenches his fists and shakes his head.

“In my defense, you practically knocked me over to get to her! And when you weren’t busy giving her puppy dog eyes, you and her were all giggly in Russian. Knowin’ damn well I don’t speak fuckin’ Russian,” she grumbles. 

Bucky rolls his eyes, puts his hands on his hips. "She’s my _friend_ \- one I haven’t seen in six months. I can’t believe you put us through the last two months over _Nat_. Not to mention you apparently think I’m that kind of guy in the first place. Thought you knew me better than that but I guess I was wrong about you.”

There’s a harsh note in his voice, the sound of things ending, that makes her stomach knot and her eyes go hot. Her throat clogs with unshed tears as she crosses her arms over her stomach. She can’t make out the pattern of the rug beneath her feet, chin beginning to wobble against her will. With some garbled sound of agreement, Emma turns toward the front door, tears finally spilling over. He’s between her and freedom before she’s even taken a single step, tilting her chin up with metal fingers. Whatever she reads in his expression has her crying in earnest.

"Please - I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” her chest heaves as she tries to draw in air.

He rests his forehead against hers. “Breathe, doll, in and out. There ya go. Attagirl.”

She slides her arms around him, gripping the back of his shirt in her fists. “I don’t want - I can’t lose you again.”

Prying her loose, Bucky sets her away from him. “Look, Emma … ”

And, really, she just does not need to hear another word. A woman can only get rejected so many times by yet another guy before she gets tired of hearing it. Somehow marshaling her emotions, she sniffles hard a few times and walks around him. Shrugs, “Hey, man, I get it, it’s whatever. I just - well, I don’t suppose it matters any more. So.”

“Oh, don’t fuckin’ do that shit. Least you could do is tell me why you’d think I’m that kind of guy before you scuttle off with your tail between your legs.”

Emma snarls at nothing in particular. Inhaling sharply, she says, “It … wouldn’t have been the first time. Oh my God, don’t you fuckin’ pity me, asshole. So what? It’s happened before, didn’t happen this time, but it’ll probably happen next time.”

“Mmm, probably,” he agrees easily.

Furrowing her brow, she says, “Anyway, the fact is, we had sex once and it wa-”

“Four times, actually. You’re welcome.”

His wink incenses her and she thunders, “What the actual _fuck_ are you doing?”

“Figured this has to be some kind of crazy dream so I might as well play along. ‘Cuz there’s no fuckin’ way you woke me up - from a sound sleep - to dump me. _Again_. I haven’t even been in this galaxy for twenty-four hours and,” a sudden yawn nearly cracks his jaw.

She seizes her moment, interjects with, “I didn’t come here to dump you again, you big idiot! How the _hell_ did you miss me practically begging you to take me back?! Besides! _You_ were the one who was about to dump me this time!”

“You don’t _know_ that, though, do you? Seein’ as how ya didn’t even let me say my piece.”

“What were you going to say?” she asks in a small voice.

Hands on his hips, he side-eyes her for a moment. “I was _going_ to say that in hindsight I could maybe see why you’d think what you did.” He points a finger at her and ups his volume when she opens her mouth. “Still doesn’t cancel out your bein’ too yellow to talk to me.”

She scoffs lightly and looks down at the floor. The sound of Brooklyn in his voice tells her he’s more hurt - more vulnerable - than he’s letting on. Feeling kind of like a dick, she rubs the back of her neck, grumbles, “You’re right and I’m sorry, okay?”

Bucky frowns and looks away. Sighs.

They both jump a little when her phone trills out, jarring in the silence. Emma fishes it out of her pocket, grateful for the interruption. Until she sees the name on the display.

“Jesus Christ, Lu, now is not … Oh don’t you _start_ with that shit. His name was not at all taken in vai - … Hell _no_ I’m not gonna put you on sp … Leave my middle name out of this, ma'am.” Emma scowls as she pulls her phone away from her ear and puts it on speaker.

“ _Can you two hear me_?” LuAnne’s raspy disembodied voice fills the living room. “ _Well_?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Bucky answers dutifully.

Emma grunts in response.

“ _I’m fed up! I didn’t get you two together just so you could be stupid. Got you two together so you could give me babies to spoil. Emma, he didn’t lie to you so get over it. Bucky, it’s not you - she’s been burned real bad too many times. And she’s softer’n she lets on._ ”

“Lu!” Emma interjects, scandalized.

“ _Oh hush up and listen. He’s a nurturer, sugar, let him nurture you. Lord knows you need it and that man wants to give it to ya. If you’ll let him. Now, neither of you gets so much as a cup of water at my diner until you pull your heads outta your asses._ ” With that caveat, LuAnne hangs up.

Shaking her head, Emma says, “I’m sor-”

“You don’t have to apologize again,” he interrupts her quietly. Sighing, he heads back toward his bedroom, peeling off his shirt while he walks. When he fails to hear her footsteps at his back, Bucky turns around and stops. Raises his eyebrows at her.

“What?”

"C'mon, ’m tired.”

Not needing to be told twice, she toes off her shoes and follows him to his room. She shimmies out of her jeans in the cool darkness then climbs into bed next to him. He eases her against his side, shushes her with a soft kiss to her forehead when she starts to speak. “Just go to sleep. Y’ look tired, too.”

“’M not tellin’ her she was right,” she grumbles around a yawn.

He makes a sleepy sound of agreement and holds her tighter.

They both fall into the deepest sleep they’ve had in months.

*

“Kitchen’s closed. Come back tomorrow,” LuAnne doesn’t bother looking up from counting the drawer when she hears the bell over the front door.

“Can’t. Leaving town tonight.”

Her narrowed gaze flies to Bucky’s face. He shrugs as he sits down at the counter. She looks toward the door then back at him. Crossing her arms and cocking her hip, she sweeps him with a calculating look. Bucky tries to look sad. LuAnne jerks a thumb back toward the kitchen and raises her eyebrows.

“I told her you wouldn’t fall for it,” he pitches his voice loud enough to be heard all the way in the back.

“Oh come on!” Emma fumes as she stomps her way into the main dining room. She slants a dirty look at LuAnne and plunks down next to Bucky. “You didn’t even _try_ did you?”

“‘Course he didn’t. He knows better,” LuAnne gives him a fond look. He preens at her.

“Suck up,” Emma mutters without any heat.

Bucky wraps an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in close, presses a lingering kiss to her cheek. Whispers loud enough for LuAnne to hear, “I’ll give ya somethin’ to suck on.”

LuAnne cackles so hard she starts coughing.

Emma puts her face in her hands. “I cannot stand either of you.”

“‘S no less than you deserve, girlie. Tryin’ to pull one over on a sweet, defenseless little old lady such as myself.”

At that outrageous lie, Emma lowers her hands. “You’re a damn menace is what you are. Botha ya.”

Smile going wobbly, LuAnne reaches across the counter and cups Emma’s cheeks in her hands. “I’m so happy you stopped being an idiot.”

“Just for that, you’re dis-invited to our wedding.”

Bucky looks at her sharply, “We’re getting married?”

“God, _no_. Ew.”

“For shit’s sake, Emma! Bucky, I don’t know why you put up with her.”

He feels Emma sit up straighter next to him, can sense the anticipation coiling her muscles, and puts a preemptive hand over her mouth. Shaking his head, he mutters, “Neither do I.”


End file.
